Greenfingers
by SinghSong
Summary: Getting rid of Trevor, Neville spruces up his image by getting a mandrake instead. He swiftly becomes fond of the plant, lavishing her with care and attention- but he's taken aback when she emerges from her pot, besotted with him, and sets about making his world absolutely magical. Can love blossom eternal, even when things get thorny? Neville/Plant Girl, Neville/Harem
1. Prologue: Trevor's Last Croak

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm making no revenue for this whatsoever.

 **A/N:** Rated M for a reason, due to language, violence and sexual content. While there won't be any Lemons in the first few chapters, give it time to grow- there'll be an abundant harvest of them soon enough, in later chapters. You have been warned…

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 **Prologue: Trevor's Last Croak**

It all began that day when he'd been working away in the greenhouses at Hogwarts, on the little allotment Professor Sprout had been letting him use… No, wait, that wasn't quite true. It had all begun long before that- from that first day he'd embarked upon that first ride to Hogwarts. Maybe even before then, if he counted the way he'd gotten treated by his family. He'd always been bullied, picked on and heckled, the butt of everyone's jokes and pranks for as long as he could remember. At first, he'd just wanted them to be nice to him, like he went out of his way to be nice to everyone else. But he'd soon realized that it'd never happen. And so, he'd given up on that childhood dream of being treated nicely, like everyone else got treated by the people who cared about them, and adopted a new goal instead- to be treated with respect, for them to treat him like someone who mattered, the kind of guy that no-one wanted to messed with. And that kind of guy wasn't the kind of guy who'd be bothered about a stinky, slimy pet toad.

He'd always hated Trevor. His grandmother had gone out of her way to buy it for him, and to saddle him with it, specifically 'cause he'd kept insisting that he HADN'T wanted to her to get him a familiar, that he NEVER wanted a familiar. If there'd been a skunk, or any other stinkier and/or slimier animal in the store at the time, she'd have got that instead. But Trevor had been the worst pick of the lot at the time, so Granny Augusta had bought him- deliberately paying an extortionate amount of five galleons for him, even though he'd been on sale for a single sickle, and forcing him to carry the disgusting creature around in his hands for the whole day. She'd ordered him to take perfect care of it "as a test of character, and to prove that you can handle responsibility." Which meant feeding it, cleaning out its litter box, bathing it, deep-cleansing its slimy, warty pores, even taking the damned thing out on a leash and dragging it along on walks every single day.

Still, no matter how fat and pampered Trevor had become over the past few years, nothing he did for the vile toad would ever be good enough for her. She'd always find something about Trevor which she could nit-pick about, heckling him to claim that- _Merlin, you can't even handle looking after a TOAD! Just look at the filthy state of it, look at the pathetic job you're doing with it! How, HOW are you supposed to handle your responsibilities as the sole heir of the Most Ancient House of Longbottom, if you're not even capable of taking care of a toad? Useless, useless boy_ … And on that day, on his allotment in the greenhouses, he'd decided that he'd had enough, and that he was damned well going to do something about it. He was going to turn over a new leaf, free himself from the shackles, and build up a brand new image for himself. And to do that, he'd have to take Trevor out of the picture. For him to stand a chance of ever having a life, Trevor the Toad would have to die.

But how? He'd realized long ago that, even if the decrepit, now arthritic Trevor were to die in his sleep of old age- which he seemed to be taking FOREVER to do- his Nan would still cite it as proof of his failure, and use that failure as a club to brow-beat him with, beating him down, down, down. _No_. He couldn't just wait any longer. He couldn't just get rid of it, toss it in a ditch or in the Lake and be done with it- if he lost Trevor, his Gran had made it clear from day one that it'd prove that he'd completely and utterly failed to handle his responsibilities, and that he couldn't be trusted to handle looking after anything- the management of his parents' vault in Gringotts would be handed over to a third party, and he'd never be able to access his inheritance himself, ever. He needed Trevor's body, at the very least. And she'd be sure to do a diagnostic spell on it, to confirm how Trevor'd copped it. That ruled out practically every method he could think of. But there had to be another way, some other method to rid himself of the accursed toad...

Then, he'd turned, and caught a glimpse of one particular magical plant, over in the corner of the greenhouse he was in, right next to the door to the greenhouse with the silencing wards on it, the one which Sprout kept her Mandrakes in. The herb which he realised could be the perfect solution to dispense with his toad once and for all. It was a magical member of the stitchwort family, a species so obscure that it didn't even get a mention in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi- the only magical text he could remember ever reading about it in mentioned it as a remedy for mange, as well as for a food supplement to help with skin diseases, rheumatic pains and arthritis. But he knew something that they didn't about it, remembered something which Professor Sprout had told him about it a few weeks back. About the reason that she was growing it here in the first place, what she'd been experimenting with using it for.

This plant had a special defence to protect itself from slimy pests- apparently, if any slimy animals tucked in on its leaves, they'd start secreting a special substance in their slime which would be an irresistible invitation for any birds in the area to come over and chow down on them, even more potent than catnip was for cats. Professor Sprout had dropped a mention of her special project- she'd been taking trimmings from that plant, feeding them to flobberworms, and then harvesting their slime to be used as an additive for owl tonics, a way to try and entice owls to drink medicinal and remedial potions no matter how bad they tasted. And it worked too, so far as he'd heard- so well that a fair few of the owls apparently hadn't been able to hold themselves back from lapping it up, even after they'd regurgitated the even slimier and more foul-tasting potions back up over and over again. Trevor, well, he was easily as slimy as any flobberworm, and a hell of a lot greedier. _It would be perfect_ …

Striding across to that corner of the greenhouse, Neville had taken his shears and trimmed off a few of its leaves, to be chopped up and added to the oh-so-special salad that he'd prepare for Trevor's breakfast, first thing tomorrow morning just like he'd had to do every other morning for the past three-and-a-half years, for the very last time. As he did though, taking a look around to make sure that he was all alone and that he wasn't being watched, his eyes lingered on the silenced greenhouse next door, the one with the Mandrakes in it. He just wasn't an animal person- he never had been, and after his long and arduous 'Trial by Toad', he was determined to NEVER have to look after another pet. _Never again_. But he most certainly was a plant person. Plants were calming, relaxing, cleansing, fresh, fragrant- everything that animals, _especially Trevor_ , weren't. Yep- once he'd got rid of Trevor's turgid, foul swamp-scented lily-pad sleeping basket, the first thing he'd do would be to put a nice plant pot there to take its place by his bedside.

But then again, that wouldn't really earn him any respect, would it? That wouldn't improve his image with the others back in his Gryffindor Dorm room at all. _Unless_ … Unless it was a really bad-ass plant in that pot. Like one of those plants in there, in that silenced greenhouse. Like a Mandrake. Now, that would be a plant worth keeping, worth tending to and looking after. A Mandrake would really be able to appreciate being taken good care of, way more than Trevor ever had. It'd be perfectly safe, of course- so long as he treated it well, took care of it, kept it well-watered and made sure that the soil in the pot was nice and fertile, it'd be snug as a bug in a rug. But even so, everyone knew what Mandrakes could do, what they were capable of. What kind of guy would keep a mandrake by his bedside as a pot plant? _The kind of guy that no-one would want to mess with, that's who_. Even so, on that day, he'd let it go. Just taken those leaf trimmings and walked away. But once he'd had that idea, it wouldn't leave him alone…

The next morning, he'd set his plan into motion- chopped up the leaf trimmings, and added them to one of the nicest, tastiest salads he'd ever prepared for Trevor. Even tasted a bit of it himself, since that side effect he was hoping for wouldn't affect him in the slightest- it tasted nice, kind of like sweet, minty lettuce. And of course, Trevor the fat, greedy toad hadn't needed any convincing when there was a meal to be had. He'd guzzled the whole lot of it down, every scrap that had been in that man-sized, full-to-the-brim serving bowl, in less than a minute. And given himself gas, like the bloated windbag always did- belching and farting out puffs of gas that were so noxious that even dung-bombs would've been preferable, that he'd have to keep casting charms to clear the air around the disgusting creature every few seconds for the next hour or so. He _would_ have had to, at any rate- just like he'd had to so many days before. But not on that day. Or on any other day, from then on.

Heading out of his dorm and out of the Gryffindor Common Room with Trevor on his leash, dragging the flatulent toad along on its morning walk as usual, Neville had to admit that he'd been nervous, really nervous. Licking his lips, twiddling his fingers as he made his way down the corridors and staircases that led down into the Entrance Hall, on his way to the Great Hall, all of those questions and what-ifs had been going through his head, almost driving him mental. What with the Triwizard Tournament going on strong, and the Yule Ball fast approaching, there'd be plenty of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students there in the Great Hall, eating breakfast and casting their nets for potential partners. And there'd be owls galore. _But would it work? What if the herb didn't have the desired effect after all? What if it did, and his Gran argued that he should've been able to fend off all of the owls regardless? What if he didn't react like everyone else thought he should when it happened, if he wasn't shocked or scared or startled enough, and people twigged on that he'd played a part in making it all happen?_

He was no Slytherin- that plotting and scheming stuff had been tough enough behind closed doors, even when it had been just him. But trying to do it in public, to deceive an audience? He'd been so unsure, hadn't known if he'd have what it'd take to pull it off convincingly. Now though, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. He didn't, and definitely hadn't had what it would take back then- he wouldn't have stood a chance. But thankfully, he'd never made it into the Great Hall with Trevor. He'd never even made it down the entrance staircase into the Entrance Hall proper. And when that burst of flame had exploded, right in his face, out of the blue, without any hint of a warning, he hadn't had to fake anything. He had genuinely been startled out of his wits for a few moments, planted on his backside, too stunned to act or intervene when Fawkes had dived down after flaming in and started tearing Trevor limb from limb with his hooked beak, wolfing down the chunks like there was no tomorrow. All he'd been able to do was watch on, his eyes widened at the up-close-and-personal sight of a phoenix driven wild, locked in a feeding frenzy. No-one, _no-one_ , could have possibly managed to save Trevor from that and lived to tell the tale.

He'd only managed to recover enough to stumble back to his feet when Fawkes had let out that screech of tortured anguish, and spewed out the smoking, barbequed remnants of Trevor at the base of the stairway, before he'd flamed as far away as possible, somewhere beyond the grounds of Hogwarts, quickly as he'd come. And to tell the truth, that had been just about the only part of the whole affair that he'd actually felt properly guilty about. To be driven into a feeding frenzy, losing control over one's own actions, and then guzzle down on something as vile and slimy as Trevor had been, when you were smart and intelligent enough to truly understand what you were actually doing, like Phoenixes were? He'd heard later on that for the rest of Fawkes' life, up until the next time he'd been reborn from the ashes more than two weeks later, he'd gone on a fast, and refused to touch even a bite of anything. Professor Dumbledore had said that Fawkes' fast had been a show of remorse, a way to try and atone for what he'd done. Neville knew better though; he'd seen Fawkes' face when he'd flamed away, that look in his eyes. It hadn't been 'cause he'd been guilty- it'd been 'cause he hadn't been able to stomach eating anything until his next rebirth had incinerated the last traces of that vile, hellish taste.

Dumbledore knew more than he let on about what had led up to Trevor's demise, why Fawkes had lost it and burst off to eat Trevor alive. Neville _knew_ that he knew- he was Dumbledore, he just knew stuff. But when his Gran, Augusta Longbottom, had heard about what had happened, she'd been ready to go on the warpath. And 'cause of how it had happened, she'd been too busy tongue-lashing the Headmaster for his inability to control his pet Phoenix to bother with chastising him for his own inability to protect the pet toad she'd bought him from being eaten by it. And though Dumbledore may have been the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Head of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Wizarding Council, and pretty much the most powerful wizard alive, even he knew better than to stand his ground and try fighting a battle over the incident when he was up against Grand Matriarch Longbottom. When Neville had been invited into the Head's Study later that day, finally allowed in after having had to sit outside all that time Professor Dumbledore had been on the Floo to his Gran to explain what had happened, at least an hour- _most of which he'd spent on the receiving end of one of his Gran's tirades, no doubt_ \- the Headmaster had wearily apologised to him personally, and offered to procure a replacement for Trevor, at his own expense, with money no object.

And when he'd gotten that offer, Neville hadn't even thought about any of the other things he could have got instead, the things that his classmates would have chosen if they'd been in his position- a pet dragon, a phoenix of his very own, a pygmy unicorn, or anything else like that. Because he was finally freed of Trevor, free to become his own man- and he was _not_ an animal person. He'd remembered that idea he'd formed back in the greenhouse, where he'd made it all happen, and he'd decided to ask for a pot plant instead. For a mandrake; one with flowers which were the Gryffindor colors of red and gold. When he'd had it handed over to him a week later, in a custom-crafted magically expanded ceramic pot by Professor Sprout, who'd managed to acquire it herself on the Headmaster's behalf through her own contacts - an extremely rare 'Caspian Gilded Red', with vivid iridescent red and gold flowers- he'd known that it was a special plant. One of a kind. But he could have never dreamed how special, how important, or just how beautiful his Mandrake would grow to become...


	2. Chapter 1: From the Plot to the Pot

**A/N-** Offering a warning, in advance- I know I said there wouldn't be any lemons in the first few chapters, but in writing this chapter, a bit of lemony freshness made its way in a fair bit earlier than even I'd expected. Enjoy (if you're old enough. If not, avert your eyes)!

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 **Chapter 1: From the Plot to the Pot**

It had worked. Somehow, it had actually worked- he'd managed to pull it off, and to come out on top. And on top of that, he'd managed to win something, all on his own, with no help or assistance from anyone, and no-one else besides himself any the wiser. Emerging from the door on the right side of the staircase in the Entrance Hall, away from Professor Sprout's office in the vicinity of the Hufflepuff quarters, Neville made his way across the entrance hall, around to the foot of the stairs, almost in a daze, cradling his gorgeous, hard-won trophy in his hands. Just the pot was spectacular enough in itself, made from some sort of semi-precious gemstone- 'marbled pink jasper', according to Professor Sprout, whatever that was- with the buff of its polish easily outshining that of the staircase's marble, and with several finely engraved magical runes carved into its ornate design, around its base and rim.

He'd been doing Ancient Runes as one of his classes since dropping Divination after last year's end-of-year exam results, which he'd been warned not to tell anyone about by Professor Trelawney, to 'avoid suffering a serious accident'. Not that he'd needed a warning- he was well aware of what kind of 'accident' he'd have suffered, at the hands of his Gran, if she'd found out about the 'D' he knew he'd gotten. Especially after that whole 'bringing to shame to our family' business, when Sirius Black had managed to get into Gryffindor Tower through him… So he recognized the runic patterns and placements which magically expanded the space inside it, as well as the ones to replicate the effects of the Unbreakable Charm (which were unsurprisingly the ones which he had the most practical experience with), and the ones to lighten it and its contents as per the Feather-Light Charm. But that still left plenty of unfamiliar ones, ones with functions that were still a mystery to him.

He'd work out what each and every one of them did in good time, Neville resolved, rounding the banister- bedecked in the everlasting icicles which had been attached as part of the christmas decorations- and starting the long climb up the main staircase. Sure, the pot was clearly special; it had to be pretty much the priciest piece of magical crockery he'd ever seen, led alone held in his all-too-often clumsy hands. And he could tell that even the soil inside the pot held was properly expensive; imported Amazonian Shamanic _Terra Preta,_ the most fertile magical growing soil around. But even so, none of that came close to equaling the perfect specimen inside. Right now, he only had eyes for his gorgeous prize. Making his way over the fateful step, he couldn't help but be reminded of Trevor's demise last week, when Fawkes had blasted in out of nowhere in that blinding, fiery explosion, right in his face.

But he could honestly say that as it was, in full bloom, his new mandrake eclipsed even Fawkes' spectacular plumage, and seemed to shimmer more brightly than even the phoenix's flames had at point-blank range. Leaving the stairs behind, finally confident enough to chance holding the pot one-handed, Neville reached up to softly cusp one of its silky smooth flowers in his other hand. Then, just stared at it for a few moments, taking the time to admire its iridescent scarlet color, and those glittering gold highlights which ran around the edges and down at the bases of the mandrake flowers' petals. Sure, those flowers stole the show. But even so, even though its supple stems, full leaves and fresh shoots may have been far plainer and less gaudy, they were still just as pretty in his eyes. "Look at you," he murmured. "You, are SO beautiful…"

"Oh, wow. Aren't you a charmer, Master Longbottom…?" _Eh_? Caught off guard, Neville looked up from his floral prize sharply, and was shocked to find himself in front of the Fat Lady already. How had he gotten here so fast? He'd barely noticed where his feet were carrying him. And now, she was beaming down at him and fluttering her eyelashes, with a faint blush painted across her chubby cheeks, clearly delighted at the compliment she'd mistakenly assumed was intended for her. "We ladies just aren't safe around you, are we…?"

"Haha, well, you know…" This, was _awkward_ … Neville shifted uncomfortably, staring back down at his mandrake, focusing on it so hard that he swore he could actually see it quivering under the intensity of his gaze. "So, anyway, um, Balder-"

"Oh, aren't those just lovely? Such gorgeous flowers! For the girl you're going to ask out, to go with you to the Yule Ball? Well, whoever the lucky girl is, I'm sure she'll simply adore them. A gift like that, it'll just sweep her off her feet, I know it will. You Casanova you…"

"Erm, no, you see, it's actually not… That is, it's… Oh, never mind. Balderdash- mind if I…?"

"Oh, no, no, of course not. I mustn't keep you. Go on, chin up; brave and bold's the way to do it. Go get her, tiger…" Offering a little wink and a nod as she did, the Fat Lady swung forward on her hinges to let Neville into the common room, and he wasted no time in hurrying on through, leaving that unsettling little chat behind. He'd hardly given the Yule Ball a thought recently, but he supposed he should, given that everyone else was. And now he didn't have Trevor holding him back any more, maybe now he might stand a chance of getting a few of the girls to see him in a different light, see him as someone- _fanciable_. Most of the classes hadn't finished yet, so there weren't too many people in the Gryffindor Common Room, but it was busy enough. And from the look of things, aside from a few first and second years, all of the others who were around right now were girls.

Suddenly self-conscious, all too aware of the girls whose heads had turned to look at him as he entered, and of the cacophony of mutterings and whispers between them and their friends which rose in the background all around him, Neville tried his best to suck in his gut, puffing out his chest a bit. Hoping it'd make him look a bit slimmer, a bit more buffed up. _Fat chance_. He only held it in for a moment or two before giving it up as a lost cause; he still knew he looked just as fat and pudgy either way anyway, and that was bad enough without going to extra lengths, straining himself and making himself look as though he was constipated to boot. Noting that he was the only Gryffindor from his year who was here at the moment, he made a beeline for his years' boys dorm, keeping his head down.

And nearly bundled straight through someone. Realising that she was there, in his path, just in time to avoid colliding into her head-on, Neville managed to brush past her instead, brushed off her and spinning around to apologise. "Sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Oh, it's alright Neville. Just try to be more careful, 'kay…?" It was Alicia Spinnet, standing together with the other two chasers on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. They'd been having a chat with each other about something or other, but now that he'd interrupted it, all three of them, three of the hottest, fittest girls in the entire school, were now looking at him, and at the pot plant he was carrying in his hands. Neville gulped nervously, trying to get rid of the non-existent lump in his throat. He knew that Alicia'd agreed to go to the Yule Ball with a bloke from Durmstrang, one of the guys in Viktor Krum's circle of friends, who'd asked her in front of an audience in the Hog's Head just a couple of days ago. And everyone knew all about Angelina going with one or the other of the Weasley twins, either Fred or George- or possibly both at the same time, depending on who you spoke to. But maybe, just maybe…

"Wait. Neville, is that…?" Katie Bell stepped across, staring blankly at him, then at the plant he was holding in his hands, then back at his face again. She was into Herbology as well, one of the only Gryffindor Girls who was- she even had her own section in the greenhouses just like he did, and she'd probably be taking the subject all the way to NEWT level. Given that, and from the way she was looking at him and his new pride and joy, it was clear that she'd immediately twigged on to exactly what type of plant it was.

Unlike the other two Chasers, so far as he knew, no-one had asked Katie out to the Yule Ball yet. And he'd made a big impression already, the mandrake had really grabbed her attention- he might never get another chance like this, he had to seize it. So, _why not give it a try_? _Because she's out of your league_ , the voice in the back of his head murmured mockingly, but Neville ignored it. Summoning whatever bravado he could muster, setting himself to play it cool, and make sure that he didn't come across as being some sad, desperate loser. _Like the kind of guy you actually are_ , the voice muttered. _And you left out 'lonely' and 'pathetic'_. _Shut it_ , Neville mentally quipped back. _I can do this,_ _piece of cake_ …

"…it is, isn't it?"

Eh? Adopting the closest thing to a confident, self-assured smirk he could manage, hoping and praying that he hadn't said any of that other stuff out loud, Neville turned to face Katie, looking her straight in the eyes. Even though she was more than a year older, it looked like he'd overtaken her height recently. The height difference between the two of them was barely noticeable though, still only an inch at most. "Yep. Sure is."

What had he been hoping for? For her to be impressed, intrigued? Because the disbelieving look she was giving him right now wasn't so much 'that's pretty cool' as 'that's plain crazy'. Neville did his best to shrug it off, looking back down at his new plant and stroking it gently beneath one of its leaves. He hadn't noticed earlier, but his mandrake was actually pretty responsive, quivering and shaking quite a bit, with the tip of the leaf he was stroking the underside of visibly curling and flexing as he did. "Gift from Professor Dumbledore, to make up for what happened to Trevor last week. He was fine with it- it's all good."

"Well- if Dumbledore says, I guess. Still, that's so…"

"Dangerous? Come on, we're all Gryffindors here- never fear."

"Sorry, Katie, but what's 'it'?" Angelina asked. "What's so dangerous? Come on, fill us in!"

"That pot plant," Katie said quietly, still looking at him as if he were some kind of lunatic. "It's a mandrake."

"What? Seriously?"

Now all three of them were all looking at him like that, with their eyes wide open, throwing glances at his poor, sweet, innocent Mandrake as if she were some mutated, light-tolerant variety of Devil's Snare, a bloodthirsty monstrous predator driven only by the urge to kill everyone and everything in reach. Feeling properly peeved now, deciding that he wasn't all that bothered about asking Katie to the Yule Ball anyway (regardless of how large and pretty her bum was), Neville raised his free hand to shield his plant from the judgmental looks they were tossed at her, lowering the tone of his voice. "So what? The pot's unbreakable, magically expanded and silenced."

Actually, that last part was more of a statement of faith than anything else- there was a pattern of runes on it which looked kind of like one of the ones on the silenced Mandrakes' greenhouse, but he didn't actually have a clue whether the pot's runic wards incorporated a silencing ward or not. "Besides, Katie, I thought you'd know better than that. Mandrakes don't cause any hassle, as long as you leave them alone when they want to be, tend to them well when they need it, and don't try torching them alive or anything. All this little beauty needs is some peace and quiet, a little bit of respect, and everything'll all be fine. Speaking of which, I'm heading up to my dorm now, to go get some. See you round, I guess."

* * *

He'd made his way around them, and walked off without another word, still acutely aware of the stares that the Chaser trio been giving him behind his back all the way. Made his way up the stairs to his dorm room, walked across the deserted dorm room to go and sit on his bed, setting his mandrake and its pot down on top of his bedside cabinet. And now, here he was. Godric only knew what they'd all been saying about him down in the Common Room at the moment, but Neville found that he didn't really care all that much. Let them say whatever they wanted to say about him- they always had anyway, and always would, so who cared? And gauging from the Chasers' reactions, at least he wouldn't have to worry about being ridiculed about his mandrake; they definitely didn't see it as a laughing matter, and that was plenty good enough for him, at least for the time being. He'd been up here, on his own, for almost an hour now- and for a while now, he'd been making the most of his alone time.

Neville turned to the next page of the gloriously obscene ' _hentai tankoubon_ ' mag which he'd managed to slip away from his Gran long enough to buy and hide on that last visit to Diagon Alley, which he'd gotten from that spindly Japanese wizard's stall over on Knockturn, over the summer during the group stages of the Quidditch World Cup. Ogling the magically illustrated, petite oriental schoolgirl, who lay spreadeagled atop her desk in a school classroom on this page. She vaguely resembled Su Li, come to think of it. But with overlarge eyes, and magenta-colored hair, done up in a really weird, totally over the top hairstyle that that super-shy, quiet and prim Ravenclaw girl would never dream of wearing. And now, she was shaking fiercely and screaming in euphoric pleasure, orgasming continuously, with crystal-clear projectile squirts bursting forth from her pussy with the force and regularity of an erupting geyser, over and over again, with every thrust of her professor's massive, oversized dick burying itself deep inside of her…

Neville's fapping hand slowed to a crawl for a moment, with his own cock threatening to lose its boner and go back to being semi-turgid, when he suddenly realised that the animated girl's professor, Professor 'Sensei', was actually the spitting image of Professor Snape. Shoulder-length greasy black hair, hooked nose and everything. But he wasn't going to stop now, not when he was so close. Brushing that aside, mentally erasing anime-Snape from existence in the scene, he fiercely envisioned himself being there instead- him being the Professor, him being the guy stuffing his length into her 'sooo tight!' pussy with all his manly might. It actually wasn't that hard to do. Well, the bit about being a Professor was pretty hard to imagine, damn near impossible. But imagining his own dick, the one he was wanking away with, as the one on that page, pounding the anime girl in the magazine hard enough to make her 'lose her mind'? That bit was actually pretty easy, seeing as how it was close enough to being the same size as his own.

A look of pride crept onto Neville's face, as he picked up the pace to match the relentless, frantic thrusts in the mag. After all, no matter how lacking his 'game' might be, he could still be proud of his equipment, the likes of which most of the other lads at Hogwarts would have to cast engorgement charms on themselves to rival. His cock was already verging on ten inches long, matching the length of the wand he'd inherited from his dad, with its girth wider than seven copies of his wand spellotaped together in a bundle would've been- so wide that he couldn't quite manage to reach his thumb with his index finger, even with his hand wrapped around it as tight as he could manage. And he'd bet on it topping out at around twelve, maybe even thirteen in the end. Like his great-uncle Algernon (bastard though he was) had always boasted; Longbottom lads were the longest around, and there wasn't a single woman who could take the full length of one without him 'bottoming her out' first- _whatever the hell that meant_.

Letting a muted groan escape his lips, feeling himself approaching the verge, Neville reached out, scrambling for one of the trusty magical absorbing cloths he had to hand. Officially, they were to mop up any spills and accidents he had in the Potions classroom, and he was still having to use them to their intended purpose more than often enough, but nowadays, he found himself using them for this even more often. Grasping it in his clutches, opening it out and clasping it over the head of his dick, Neville took himself over the edge into another long, blissful orgasm, allowing himself to cum into it for the third time in a row. With a weary, contented sigh, he checked to make sure he'd caught every speck on the cloth, wiped off his hands with one of the unused corners of it, and called time on his little mini-marathon, popping his dick back into his boxers and zipping up his trousers. It was early December, after all, and it was getting late. It'd been dark outside for ages. He should probably be expecting company, soon enough…

"HEY! Harry, are you up here?" Startled, Neville jumped as Ron Weasley's voice rang out across the dorm room. Hastily snatching up the dirty magazine, rolling it up, he just managed to get it back into his old divination scroll-case and toss it back into his bedside cabinet in time. Grabbing the first book that he could get his hands on out of his bag, Neville managed to get it open a split second before the top of Ron's bright red head came into view, followed by the rest of him coming up the stairs. _Merlin's beard, how freaking close was that_? Way too close. Another second, and he'd have been caught in the act, by Ron Weasley. Who'd never have let him live it down, never. That tore it- _next time, I'm just going to go off and do it in an empty classroom or a broom closet, like everyone else_.

"Harry? Oh, right. It's just you, Nev…"

"Uh-huh. Just me." Neville murmured vaguely, without looking up.

"Yeah. Haven't seen Harry around anywhere, have you?"

"Nah. Haven't seen him all day." Still keeping his eyes down, Neville pretended to be deeply engrossed in the pages of- _Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean_? Again? Every blooming time he picked out a book at random, it was _always_ that one, _always_. It was like there was a bloody compulsion charm on it or something… Rolling his eyes, Neville snapped Mad-Eye Moody's class-warming gift shut and dropped it beside him on the bed. Turning to face Ron, it looked like he felt more or less the same way. Noisily plonking himself down onto his own mattress, Ron took one look at the book and groaned loudly, slumping back against the headrest.

"UURGH… Neville, not you too. I swear, the way Hermione's been going on about that egg all the time, it's been driving me spare. It's just been, _here, let's read this, read that, read through this, file through that_ … Dunno why I thought there'd be a chance he'd be in here. Where else would Harry be? Off in the Library, with Hermione, poring through every book he can get his hands on with her to try and find some solution that'll get him through the Second Task. Reading and reading, non-stop, until they're forced out after curfew, every single night. Just books, books, books, BOOKS! I feel like just tearing 'em all apart, leaf by leaf…!"

"Come on, Ron, it's not that bad. So long it's decent enough, then reading a book can be really fun." Neville smiled slyly, casting his thoughts back to how enjoyable his last good read had been, just a few minutes earlier. Ron glared back at him, furrowing his eyebrows.

"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're joking. It's fucking torture, that's what it is. Seriously, between the two of 'em, for the past few weeks, it's been worse than having to deal with Hermione's last exam season, last school year- and let me tell you, that was bad. Really, _really_ bad. You couldn't even begin to imagine how bad it was. So bad, that…"

"Alright, I get it already. Sheesh. So, what _is_ the Second Task then- what's Harry looking for, what's this big problem he's trying to solve? Any way I could help?"

Now, it was Neville's turn to be the one frowning and glaring back at Ron, who'd actually started chuckling, grinning and shaking his head in amusement. "No offence Nev, but there's no way you're gonna be able to solve something like this with _Herbology_. Hermione's been using damn near every moment of her free time to work on it, and yank Harry away to work with her on it, for weeks now. She still hasn't come up with anything on it. You seriously think you've got a chance of finding an answer when even Hermione herself, the girl who _always_ knows the answer to _everything_ , hasn't managed to?"

"Meh, fair point. Guess not," Neville admitted. _Can't argue with that_. Shrugging it off, he reached out to gently pet his new mandrake again, tickling the underside of a few of its leaves. Ron did a double-take, finally noticing the spectacular floral plant sitting on top of Neville's cabinet for the first time.

"Eh? What the heck is that you've got there? OH. Oh-ho, right, I get it. Chicks dig flowers, huh? Smart thinking. So, who're you gonna give it to- who've you got your eyes set on, who're you gonna ask to go to the Ball with you?"

"I'm not giving it to anyone, alright?" Neville said gruffly. "Haven't even decided who to ask yet anyway."

"Still narrowing it down, huh? Well, I've kind of got a proposition for you. See, my little sis, Ginny, seriously wants to go to the Yule Ball, really badly. But she isn't quite old enough to go on her own, so unless someone asks her out, she's stuck. And that's where you'd come in."

"But- why don't you just ask Harry? She fancies Harry, doesn't she? I _know_ she doesn't fancy me."

"Um, yeah? That's why it's such a genius plan! I mean, think about it. She's fancied Harry so much, for so long. If they went to the Yule Ball together- well, I know my little sis. If she came onto him, properly came onto him, well, there'd be no telling what'd happen between the two of 'em. She's at the age now where she's, you know- getting interested, in that sorta stuff. Boyfriends, dating, snogging, snuggling and all the rest of it. And if she went with Harry, managed to pull him away so it was just the two of them alone? Hell no, no way I'm gonna let that happen. But _you_ , on the other hand- I KNOW Ginny doesn't fancy you. And no matter what, no matter how well it went, she'd never remotely fancy _you_ , or be interested in doing any of that sort of stuff with _you_ , not in a million years. It'd be perfect!"

Hands clasped behind his head, with his eyes half-closed, and a smug grin plastered across his face, Ron looked at him expectantly, waiting to be thanked or congratulated. Expressionless, Neville stared back at him blankly for a minute or so, pondering on which of the two he was more tempted to do. Pull out his wand and toss a few hexes at the bloke? Or go marching over there and punch him in the face? No reason he couldn't do both…

"Besides, think about it. My little sister, hooking up with my best friend? That'd just be too freakin' weird. So, what d'you think?"

 _Grr_... Nah, it wasn't worth it. And it wasn't like he had any other better options. Neville settled for throwing a punch or two at his pillow, before unclenching his fists again. "Fine, whatever. I'll think about it." He changed the subject. "So, anything worth mentioning going on, back down there in the Common Room? Was anyone saying or doing anything interesting when you came up?"

"Well, Seamus and Cormac just got back in from Hogsmeade a couple of minutes after I did, and both of those two are properly pissed. It was a right laugh-"

"OI! Wha's all 'is then? What're ye bein' sooo fuckin' quiet fer? Let's party- let's cele-reba-rate!" Seamus Finnigan stumbled into view, Dean Thomas grunting under the weight of trying to guide him along and help support his weight, half-carrying him up the flight of stairs leading up into the dorm. Cormac McLaggen lumbered in behind them a few seconds later, still holding an emptied pint-sized bottle of firewhisky in each hand. _It's gonna be one of those nights, isn't it_?

"Let me guess- another drinking challenge?"

"AYE! Wi' a couple o' them Durmstrang'rrr fannies! Them Russian lads, they can 'old their drink a'right- gave us a right royal run for our money, didn' ey, Cormac?"

"Yeah, they sure did. But I done said it before, a dozen times, and I'll say it a thousand times more; no-one, but NO-ONE, beats th' Irish when it comes tae gluggin' down Firewhisky! Ain't 'at right, Seamus!"

"YEAH! We showed 'em, wha' REAL drinkerrs can dae, didnae we?!"

 _They lost_ , Dean mouthed from behind their backs. Ron burst out laughing, but the two of them were too out of it to realise that he was laughing at them, right in their faces. Cormac started chortling along with him, swaying unsteadily on his feet and raising one of the empty bottles to offer a toast- misjudging the distance, raising it too far and clattering the bottle against his own forehead by mistake, sending himself staggering backwards and sending Ron into absolute hysterics. Even further gone, oblivious to all of that, Seamus set his head off to one side and squinted hard, his attentions caught by and focused solely upon the new arrival in the dorm room. Started shuffling forward, with his hands outstretched, heading straight for it. Suddenly uneasy, with alarm bells going off in his head, Neville got up from his bed, stepping across to block him off and protect the mandrake from whatever he had in mind for her.

"You're drunk, Seamus."

"Now now now, what in th' name o' Godric's gigantic gold-star-rated ding-dong is 'at s'pposed tae be, Neville? An' why're ye bringin' it in 'ere?"

"I was gonna ask that too, Neville," Dean spoke up from where he'd wandered off to, standing alongside his own bed, a few beds down from his own. "What is it- a floral tribute for Trevor?"

"Well, I guess you could say that. Then again, actually- no. Not at all."

"Oh. Ookay…"

"It be a fuckin' flowerpot, tha's wha it is. Now then, Neville, ah dinna think ye understand. These 'ere, these are the men's dorms. And nae just any men's dorms either. The GRYFFINDOR men's dorms, the manliest men's dorms in the 'ole a Wizardom. This be the place where we, the ALPHA MALES, come in pride to lay our heads down, an' get our kip every night. You wanna decorate a place wi' that pretty little PINK flower-pot o' yours? Ye'd be better off goin' to the girls dorms, or leavin' it back in the Common Room. 'Cause ah'm nae lettin' ya keep it ere, tha's fer damn sure…!"

Seamus tried to shove him aside to get at it, again. Most of the time, he'd have done it easily enough too- he knew from plenty of past experiences that Seamus was a fair bit stronger than he was. But with Seamus' balance totally shot, blown into pieces by the booze, Neville wasn't having any of it. He'd had to put up with Seamus' pranks and bullying for long enough, been shoved around by him- and Ron, and even Dean once or twice- more than enough times. And now, he was done with sitting back, putting on a brave face and putting up with it in silence. It was about time he got some respect around here- and for starters, they'd all need to know that they'd have to show his new mandrake the proper respect she deserved.

"Seamus. Tell me, do you know what kind of plant this is?"

"Eh, lemme 'ave a guess- be it a fuckin' PANSY? Eh-heh, eh-heh…"

"Ha. Real funny, Seamus. Nope- this here's a mandrake. You know, those plants that scream if you unearth them or disturb them? The ones whose screams can be deadly, and actually kill you. Exactly like banshees' screams. And you really don't like the sound of banshees, do you? You're really, really scared of those screams, aren't you?"

Making a glurging, half-strangled sound, Seamus staggered backward as if he'd been struck by a curse, staring at the plant like it was possessed by a demon, his eyes widening like saucers. "NO! Nah, nah, ye're not getting' me with that. Ye're yankin' my chain, Neville, I know y'are."

"I'm not. So, unless you want that soul-splitting shriek to be the last sound you'll ever hear, I'd suggest that you back away, and give her and me some space. Now."

Still backing away, Seamus lost his footing, and fell onto his backside. With his wide eyes still fixed on the blossoming mandrake, Seamus shook his head frantically, shuffling back from it along the floor. "What a, heap of, steamin' hippogryff shite. That, that ain't no mandrake. It can't be. Ah dinnae believe it. Ah cannae believe it. Ah, ah-"

"Enough, Nev, enough! You're gonna make him piss himself…!" Ron managed to get out at last, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. Dean nodded in agreement. "Quit winding him up- it isn't a mandrake, right?"

"Yeah. Ye're lyin', Neville," Cormac called out from his spot, still standing by the top of the stairs. "After all, Mandrakes 'ave purple flowers, don' they?"

"Sorry, Cormac, but believe it or not, not all roses are red, and not all violets are blue. They do come in other colors as well. And so do mandrakes- they're not all purple. Who'd have thought it, eh?"

Ron's jaw dropped open, his chuckling cut off abruptly by the realisation that it wasn't all just one big joke. "So, wait. You mean, that actually IS a…"

"No way." Dean murmured. All four of them were staring at his mandrake now, with a mixture of shock, fear, awe and- could it be? Was that _respect_?- showing through in their expressions.

He'd never get another chance like this- he had to seize this opportunity by the hilt, quench the blade while it was still hot, to make sure that it'd set strong, hard and true. Neville could feel the weight of the important moment bearing down on his shoulders, could feel the butterflies fluttering away in his stomach harder and more desperately than the flowers on a burning flutterby bush. But unlike the girls back down in the Common Room, the guys in front of him right now wouldn't be perceptive enough to pick up on any of that. All they saw was the confident pose he adopted, taking a half-step back to stand alongside his mandrake and reaching his hand out to start gently caressing one of her leaves again. And all they heard was the steady, unruffled tone of his voice when he spoke up.

"Yes way. This, right here, is indeed a mandrake. Mine- my personal gift from Dumbledore, to make up for what happened to Trevor. I suppose you could say that she's Trevor's far more useful, beautiful and aromatic replacement. You can call this gorgeous, beautiful flower-" Neville paused for a few seconds, seemingly for dramatic effect, but really because he hadn't decided on a name yet. _Come on, think_ … Then the idea struck him, wiping the false smirk he'd been holding on his face away and replacing it with a genuine one. "-my lovely little Siren. You see, that pot she's in? It may be pink, but I'm keeping it, 'cause it's got plenty of useful runic wards and enchantments magically worked into it. It's magically expanded, feather-light and unbreakable." All true so far. From here on in though, he'd be bluffing pretty much all the way. Neville licked his dry lips, before pressing on.

"Among the built-in wards, there's a ward to alert her to any intruders, let her know when to protect herself. And that anti-intrusion ward can be tied in and linked up with any anti-intrusion wards I set up around my bed, using runes." All bull, of course- he didn't have a clue as to whether that would even be possible, let alone how to actually do something like that and set it up. But he was the only one in this dorm who took Ancient Runes, so none of the others could call him out on it. Thankfully, it looked like they'd all bought into it, no problem. "Anyway, from now on, I'll be sleeping with my silencing earmuffs on. If anyone starts to intrude without an invitation, if any of you try to sneak another prank under my bed or between my sheets, then it'll trigger the wards, setting off my pretty Siren. So, if you leave me in peace, things stay quiet. If you don't though, then you'll have to deal with Siren here giving you an earful, the way that only a mandrake or banshee can. Everyone clear on that?"

Nodding vigorously, still scurrying away and looking like he was almost as terrified as he was drunk, Seamus reached the staircase, and kept going, leaving the dormitory and rushing back down the stairs to the Common Room below. Cormac turned around, tossing one last perturbed look over his shoulders at Neville and 'Siren', and dashed out after him.

"Blimey, Neville. That, is flipping mental…" Dean breathed. Ron let out a low whistle, either in admiration or disbelief. "Whoa. Hardcore. Didn't think you had it in you, Nev. So that flowerpot isn't some gift for some bird then. A mandrake? And you're keeping it?"

YES! Hook, line and sinker- _get in there_! Wearied after the confrontation, coming down from the adrenaline high he'd been on, Neville practically collapsed, taking the weight off his feet and sitting back down on his bed, hard enough for the mattress to creak in protest. Turning his full attentions back to his glorious mandrake, to Siren, he picked her up in her pot from the bedside table. Gazing down at her fondly, admiring her luscious leaves and dazzlingly colorful petals, before pulling her in close, delicately kissing one of the flowers and taking a long, deep whiff of that fresh, intoxicating scent. The sweet smell of triumph, of victory. "Yep. No way I'd give her away- this Siren's all mine, and she's here to stay."

* * *

 _ **A/N- So, what'd you think so far? If you think Neville's been a bit OOC in the first couple of chapters, it's because he's been consciously making an effort to be. That's about as much as he'll ever be able to manage when it comes to 'funneling his inner Slytherin' though; he's all tapped out on that front. And yes, this Neville is still labelled by pretty much everyone, including himself, as 'Neville the loser/klutz' at his stage, as was the case at this stage in canon- but that'll all change soon enough, don't worry about that. There's plenty of character development in the pipeline, which'll pretty much parallel his canonical character development into 'Neville the badass battle-sword wielder'. But here, there'll be a rather more 'fleshed-out' explanation for his rapid transformation from a self-deprecating, insecure obese boy into a self-assured, confident muscle-bound young man over the course of the next year and a half.**_


End file.
